


Fight

by Monty Python Fan (orphan_account)



Category: British Comedy RPF, Monty Python RPF
Genre: Arguing, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fights, M/M, Men Crying, Minor Injuries
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-19
Updated: 2016-05-19
Packaged: 2018-06-09 09:40:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,388
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6900736
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/Monty%20Python%20Fan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John and Jonesy have an argument, a bad one. And, once again, its up to Michael 'Nice Guy' Palin to resolve the situation.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fight

**Author's Note:**

> I've decided I made a mistake and will be uploading everything again.

Within seconds, Michael knew that the somewhat heated discussion between John and Terry J about a sketch he and Terry had written had turned into a full blown argument. And he sighed heavily, knowing what was coming, and that he wouldn’t be able to stop it.

“Why can’t you just listen to me for once instead of going off on a bloody tangent about some shit that doesn’t matter?” Terry snapped, his face beginning to go red.

“Why don’t you just shut the hell up, you stupid Welsh git?” John yelled, slamming his hand against the table with such force that he almost knocked Graham’s bottle of gin over. Mike grabbed Terry’s arm and squeezed it tight, trying to keep his partner calm. It didn’t work.

Terry’s eyes narrowed as he stared at the older man, his already flushed face reddening disturbingly. “What did you just call me?”

“John!” Michael hissed under his breath, shooting John a warning look, but he was ignored.

John let a smile cross his face, and soon he was grinning in his slightly mental way he did when he was angry. Graham noticed and picked up his bottle, resting it in his lap almost protectively, whilst Terry G pushed his chair slightly back from the table, as though getting ready to run away. Or maybe he was getting ready to hold John back, Mike wasn’t sure.

Eric was just grinning, Michael noted, as though he was getting enjoyment out of the argument that could quickly escalate into something much more violent. Come to think of it, he was probably memorising their insults so he could use them in a future sketch – Mike certainly wouldn’t put it past him.

“I called you a stupid Welsh git,” he said, eerily calm.

Jonesy clenched his hands into fists and gritted his teeth. “You fucking bastard, I’ll—”

“What’s th-the matter?” Graham said, taking another swig of gin straight from the bottle. He sounded like he had no idea what was going on, and, for once, Mike wished to be in Gray’s situation. “Why’re you fighting?”

“Shut up!” John snapped, but Gray barely flinched. “This has nothing to do with you!”

“John, stop it,” Gilliam begged, but John ignored him.

“And we’re not fighting,” Terry added, but he was shaking so violently that Mike knew he was talking crap. “I just wanted to know why he called me a stupid Welsh git.”

“Yes,” John said in an equally fake-calm voice, deliberately ignoring the look given to him by Gilliam. “And I just wanted to tell him that I called him a stupid Welsh git because he is one.”

Mike sighed again as Jonesy stood up and leaned across the table, glaring at John. “Shut the fuck up, John! Or I’ll . . .”

Terry trailed off, obviously not knowing what to say, and Mike took the opportunity to ease him back into his chair. He grabbed his hand and interlocked their fingers, determined to anchor Terry to his seat. Across the table, he saw Gilliam try to copy him, but John swatted his hand away.

“Or you’ll what?”

“I’ve got an idea!” Eric suddenly announced in a painfully loud voice. Mike realised he was trying to break up the argument and smiled greatfully. “Why don’t we get back to reading the sketch through?”

“Why don’t you SHUT up!?” John snapped, and Eric visibly recoiled from him.

“John!” Gilliam hissed.

“You can shut it too,” he said, and Gilliam ducked his head, looking very hurt. Mike wasn’t surprised; he’d be hurt too if his Terry snapped at him for no reason.

“I think that w-was uncalled for,” Graham spoke up, giving Gilliam’s shoulder a clumsy pat. Well, it was really more like a whack, but, if Terry felt the pain it caused, he didn’t show it.

“And I think you’re an irritating drunken poof, but it’s not always my place to say it,” John snapped. Graham flinched, but didn’t look remotely bothered by the insult. Knowing him, he probably took it as a compliment. Eric scribbled something down that looked suspiciously like ‘drunken poof’, proving Mike’s theory to be true.

“See what I mean?” Jonesy cried. Mike hit himself in the forehead at his inability to let things go.

“Terry,” he said warningly, only to get ignored.

His partner, now smiling his warped smile again, turned back to John. “You’re always going off about some other shit – you can’t even argue with me properly.”

“Yes I can!” Now John was going red, making him look even more manic.

“No you can’t!”

“Yes I can!”

“John,” Gilliam said, sounding pleading this time.

“Leave out of this, Terry!” John snapped, and Mike saw Gilliam’s lip start wobbling.

“But—”

“This has nothing to do with you! Just fucking shut up.” John hissed, and Gilliam flinched away from him.

“You’re proving my point right now,” Jonesy suddenly cried, unable to just let it bloody go.

“Bloody hell,” Mike muttered, but he was ignored.

“How exactly?!”

“Because you can’t even fucking argue with me without picking on Gilliam!”

“I wasn’t picking on him!”

“John, please stop it,” Gilliam pleaded, his voice sounding funny.

“Shut up Terry!”

It was making Mike feel hurt himself to see the American getting so visibly hurt, yet it also amazed him, because he’d never seen Terry looking anything less than annoyingly upbeat.

“But I’m—”

“I don’t care what you want to say. This has nothing to do with you, so just piss off and stop getting on my tits!”

That seemed to be the final straw for Terry; he sighed heavily and slowly got to his feet, looking more hurt than ever, hanging his head and blinking far too quickly. “I think I’ll go make some tea. Anyone want one?”

Terry and John ignored him completely, more concerned with their argument, and Mike and Eric both shook their heads. Gray, on the other hand, nodded his head and followed Gilliam out of the room, mumbling about how much he fancied a cup of tea right now. Mike had a feeling that neither of them had any interest in tea at all, and were more likely trying to get out of the situation before it escalated.

Mike felt bad for Terry, but he didn’t go after him; he was more worried about averting a more serious fight than the one currently happening.

Jonesy took a deep breath and sat forward in his seat again; Mike tightened his grip on his hand. “Look, John, this is stupid.”

Mike almost smiled, giving Terry’s hand a squeeze, convinced that he was finally going to grow up and stop fighting. At least, until Terry opened his mouth again.

“Why can’t you just admit that what you said was unfair?”

“Bloody hell,” Mike hissed, shaking his head.

“Because it wasn’t unfair,” John said. “It was perfectly true. How’s it my fault that you can’t take criticism?”

“To be fair, John,” Eric said, putting down his pen. “It was less like criticism and more like an outright attack on his writing.”

“No it wasn’t,” John said indignantly. Eric sighed and picked his pen up again, obviously giving up.

“Yes it bloody was!” Jonesy snapped. “You said it was a load of crap.”

“That’s because it is!”

“You’re an arsehole,” Terry spat.

“I don’t know why you’re getting so worked up—”

“I’m getting worked up!? Have you seen your face? You look like a fucking tomato.”

John started laughing, but it sounded malicious. Terry gritted his teeth and exhaled sharply, and Mike knew he was getting closer to snapping completely.

“You don’t look much better yourself.”

“Shut the fuck up, John!”

Before Mike knew what was happening, Terry suddenly made a move, lunging forward and swinging his fist out, trying to make contact with John’s face.

“Bloody hell!” Mike grabbed him around the waist and pulled him backwards just in time, pinning Terry into his seat.

“Jesus!” Eric cried, reaching to steady all the glasses that were wobbling precariously.

Terry was breathing heavily, his hands clenched into tight, trembling fists, and Mike didn’t let go, not trusting him to not so something stupid again.

Now John just looked bemused, watching Jonesy with a strange look on his face. “You’re a bloody loony, Jones.”

Terry’s eyes widened in disbelief. “And you’re not?!”

“Of course I’m not,” John said, sounding genuinely offended. “But you are – I mean, you just went for me.”

“Yes, and I’ll do it again if you don’t shut the bloody hell up!” Terry yelled, loosing what little control he had left.

“Terry . . .” Mike muttered, even though he knew it was futile; when Terry got this wound up, there was no way to reason with him.

“Go on then!” John shrieked, also having totally lost it.

Several things happened all at once: Terry broke free of Mike’s grip and grabbed his chair, holding it above his head; John jumped out of his seat and backed away, suddenly not looking so angry; Eric grabbed his glass of water and rushed out of the room; Mike, confused and disoriented, tried to grab Terry’s arm, but not before Jonesy lobbed his chair straight at John’s head; Shrieking, John ducked, and the chair flew across the room, knocking the wireless and a vase off of the sideboard, and chipping a chunk of plaster out of the wall.

And then the three of them just stood there, surveying the damage and breathing heavily.

“What the bloody fuck was that?” John gasped, slowly standing up straight and looking at the now broken chair that had been aimed at his head.

Jonesy was shaking, his eyes widening as he seemed to realise what he had just done. Mike kept his distance, not wanting to risk angering him further. But Terry didn’t seem so angry anymore; he just looked confused and tired.

“Um, if you’ll excuse me for a minute . . .” he mumbled, rushing out of the room. Mike heard footsteps on the stairs, but didn’t go after him. He was in too much of a daze to move.

He heard more footsteps, and then Eric came rushing into the room from the kitchen, still holding his glass. “What on Earth just happened?”

“Terry threw a chair at John,” Mike said, sinking into a chair, still feeling dazed.

“He missed though – I’m fine.” John said slowly, rubbing his very flushed face with both hands. “Although I can’t say the same for the wall.”

Eric looked over at the wall and the chair, which had two legs snapped off. “Fucking hell. Where’s he gone?”

“He’s gone off upstairs,” Mike said.

“Should someone go after him?”

Mike shook his head. “Trust me, when Terry’s in a mood, he wants to be left alone.”

“If you say so,” Eric shrugged.

Unsteadily getting to his feet, Mike went over to the sideboard and picked up the radio, noticing that his hands were trembling with what must have been adrenaline. It was a bit dented, but should still work. The vase, however, had shattered into about one hundred pieces, and the hole in the wall was much bigger than he first thought. It was amazing, really, that someone could do so much damage with only a chair.

Not having the energy to clear up the mess in his once very tidy dining room, Mike wandered into the kitchen, where he found Gilliam and Gray leaning against the wall, the latter with his arm around the former’s shoulders. Terry looked rather upset, his eyes suspiciously damp, and Gray was trying to light his pipe one handed, as his other hand was around Terry’s shoulders.

“Has the shit s-storm finished?” Gray asked when he saw him.

Mike nodded. “Yeah. Terry’s stormed off, and I think John’s calmed down.”

Gray smiled a slightly wonky smile, a clear sign that he was very drunk. “That’s good, I suppose.”

Mike turned to Terry and smiled at him, and Terry smiled back, but it looked forced. “How’re you doing, Terry?”

“’M fine,” Terry mumbled, even though he clearly wasn’t.

“What was that thud?” Gray asked suddenly, taking Mike by surprise.

“Huh?”

“The thudding noise. Eric went to i-investigate.”

“Ah, that,” Mike said, rubbing the back of his neck. He sighed. “That was Terry throwing a chair at John.”

“What?” Gilliam suddenly seemed very alert, staring at Mike with a horrified look on his face. His voice was a bit too thick, and Mike could see a definite redness to the skin around his eyes, as well as the tissue gripped in his hand, and knew for definite that he’d been crying. “Is he hurt?”

“No, no, he’s fine,” Mike said quickly, and Gilliam relaxed a little. “Terry missed, and the wall took the blow instead.”

“Bloody hell,” Gray muttered, taking his arm from around Gilliam’s shoulders and beginning to light his pipe.

“And John is definitely fine?” Terry asked cautiously, as though he didn’t totally believe him.

It amazed Mike that Terry was so worried about someone who was so horrible to him only about ten minutes ago, but he knew he’d be the same with Jonesy. “Yep, he’s absolutely fine. Well, he’s still in a mood, but he’s not injured.”

Gilliam sighed, sounding relieved. “That’s good.”

“Speaking of John, where is he?” Graham asked, blowing smoke out of his nose as he exhaled.

“Still in the dining room. Why?”

“I want to have a word w-with him,” Gray said oddly, and he walked out of the room. Intrigued, Mike followed after him, going back into the dining room. Gray approached John, who was leaning against the table, and crossed his arms across his chest.

John looked up, but, seeing who it was, simply sighed and lowered his head again. “Hello, Gray,” he said weakly, as though he had no energy left.

But there was no sympathy in Gray’s voice. “I just thought you ought to know, John, th-that you’ve reduced your partner to tears by being an arsehole to him, and I think you ought to apologise.”

“What?” John looked up at him, a rare look of concern crossing his face. “What are you talking about?”

Graham sighed. “While you and Jones were arguing about crap, I’ve been comforting your bloody partner in the kitchen because he was crying – because _you_ upset him.”

John noticed Mike stood in the doorway, and said to him, “Is that all true, Mike?”

Mike nodded slowly. “Yeah.”

“He was _crying?_ ” John said, as though he still didn’t believe them. “Terry was crying?”

“Yes,” Gray said softly, looking slightly annoyed, probably because John didn’t believe him and immediately asked Mike if he was telling the truth.

“You really hurt his feelings when you yelled at him.”

“But . . . he never cries.”

“Well he definitely was,” Gray said, chewing on his pipe.

“He’s right, John,” Gilliam said, coming into the room and standing beside Mike.

John’s face fell as he saw Terry, and he looked very guilty. It was actually rather satisfying to see him looking so guilty after what had happened, and Mike found it hard to not smile. “I, uh . . . Did I really upset you that much?”

Terry nodded slowly, roughly wiping his eyes with the cuff of his sleeve. His voice was still a bit off, sounding far too thick and shaking slightly. “Yeah.”

“Shit,” John muttered, finally starting to believe that he and Gray had been telling the truth.

“I mean, I know it sounds kind of pathetic,” Gilliam said. “But getting yelled at when I’m overtired and stressed can give quite a weird reaction.”

“No, no, Terry, it’s not pathetic at all,” Finally, John seemed to be getting it; he stood up straight and made his way over to where Mike and Gilliam were standing, looking at the damaged wall as he passed it. “It was my fault – I shouldn’t have been an arsehole to you.”

From across the room, Gray gave a satisfied nod, and puffed on his pipe.

“I mean, you were only trying to calm me down—”

Terry chuckled, looking down at his feet, and Mike had a feeling that his laughter wasn’t happy laughter. “Yeah, and look how crap I was at that.”

“Stop it, Terry,” John said, but he said it softly, without any of the maliciousness he’d used earlier when he snapped at Terry. His cheeks were going red, presumably from embarrassment, but John still added, “Look, just come here and give me a hug, you silly sod.”

Terry obliged, pressing his face against John’s chest before he even knew what was going on; Mike started laughing at the total look of surprise on his face. Still a bit shocked, John wrapped his arms around the younger man and patted his back, still managing to look totally uptight and awkward even when doing something as intimate as hugging his partner.

John suddenly seemed to realise that Mike was still there, his eyes widening. “What the fuck’re you doing, Palin?”

“Standing in the dining room of my house,” Mike said, and Graham began to laugh from the other side of the room.

But he decided to give John and Terry some privacy, and so went out of the room, dragging Gray with him. Gray didn’t protest, sounding more confused than agitated as he took his pipe out of his mouth for the first time in about ten solid minutes.

“Where’re we going?” Graham asked, taking another sip of gin.

“We’re going to watch telly,” Mike said firmly as he led Gray into the living room, where his friend immediately went over to the drinks cabinet. “And no drinking my booze!” He called, grinning, and Gray pouted, moving instead to thump down on the sofa.

“Drat,” Graham muttered, picking the Radio Times up from off the coffee table and beginning to thumb through it with his slightly trembling hands.

Mike was about to say something when he heard a thump coming from upstairs.

“What the hell was that?” Gray said, looking up at the ceiling.

As confused as Gray, he went to the bottom of the stairs and yelled up, “Terry? Is everything all right up there?”

But Terry didn’t answer, and Mike found himself worrying that he might have knocked himself out or something like that. Sighing, he went up to investigate, wishing that he wouldn’t always worry so much. The spare bedrooms and the bathroom were all empty, so Mike knew that Terry had to be in their bedroom. He knocked on the closed door, but didn’t get a response, only making him worry even more.

“Terry?” He said through the door, knocking again.

“Go away, Mike,” Terry said thickly, and Mike sighed in relief, at least until he realised that the thickness of Terry’s voice meant he must have been either in pain or crying.

Mike ignored him and opened the door. Terry was sat cross legged on the bed, hunched forwards awkwardly with his face obscured, and holding his hand out in front of him. His knuckles were unmistakably red, and seemed to be bleeding.

“Bloody hell, Terry,” he said, and Terry’s head snapped up, showing Mike his red eyes and pained expression.

“Jesus Christ, Mike, take the fucking hint,” Terry moaned, dropping his sore hand into his lap and scowling at him. “Just leave me alone.”

“But, but,” Mike stammered, taking another step into the room. “What happened to your hand?”

“Nothing!” Terry snapped, tucking his hand into his armpit so Mike couldn’t see it any more.

Mike crept further towards him and sat down on the bed beside him. But instead of walking off, as Mike had feared, Terry just sighed.

“I’m worried about you, Terry, that’s all,” Mike put his arm around Jonesy’s shoulders, but he sat stiffly and refused to lean against him.

Terry scoffed and wiped at his eyes with his good hand. “If you were that worried you wouldn’t’ve left me alone up here for fifteen minutes.”

“I would have come,” Mike insisted, trying to ignore the spite in his partner’s voice. “But I needed to see if the others were all right, and, besides, I thought you wanted to be left alone.”

“So why’re you here now?”

“I heard a thud and came to investigate.” Mike paused, swallowing, before continuing. “I presume it was you punching something?”

“No,” Terry said, but then he sighed. “Yes.”

“Yes?”

“The wardrobe door.”

“Can I have a look at your hand?”

Terry sighed again, but thrust his arm out in Mike’s direction. “I guess so, you nosy git.”

Ignoring him, Mike carefully looked at Terry’s swollen and grazed knuckles, which were already bruising and still oozing blood.

“Do you still feel angry?”

Terry looked up at him, staring at him like he was an idiot. “Of course I don’t. That’s why I hit the bloody wardrobe.”

“Well, that’s good, I suppose,” Mike muttered, letting go of Terry’s sore hand.

After a few minutes of rather awkward silence, Terry spoke up again.

“Mike?”

“Yeah?”

“How much damage did I do?”

Mike sighed and squeezed Terry’s shoulder. “You smashed the vase my mother gave me, knocked two of the legs off of the chair, dented the wireless and chipped a chunk of plaster out of the wall.”

“Shit,” Terry said. “That’s pretty bad, isn’t it?”

Mike nodded slowly, remembering the damage.

“Still, at least I didn’t hit John. Although I still kind of wish I had.” Even though he chuckled as he said it, Mike knew that he was partially serious. “How’s Gilliam?”

“He was crying earlier—”

“Really? Gilliam was crying?”

“Yeah,” Mike said. “John really upset him. Gray had a right go at him for it.”

Jonesy chuckled. “Good for him. But he’s fine now?”

“Think so. He and John were hugging when me and Gray left.”

“Is John still angry?”

“Nope,” Mike shook his head. “I think you scared it out of him.”

“Yes, I suppose I did,” Terry said, lowering his head and looking at his lap. Now he just sounded ashamed, sighing heavily as he flexed his slightly stiff fingers. He winced at the obvious pain it caused, and Mike hoped that he hadn’t fractured something.

“I wish I didn’t rise to it, Mike, I really do, but he’s just so bloody annoying sometimes.” Terry said, looking up at him again.

“I know, mate,” Mike mumbled. He knew exactly what Jonesy meant; John loved to wind Terry up, and frequently did so with obvious joy. But Terry wasn’t much better – when he was angry, he could say and do some awful things. Like throwing a chair at someone’s head and only just missing.

He heard Terry sniff, and wrapped his arm even tighter around him. Terry shuffled around and pressed his face against Mike’s chest, echoing what Gilliam had done to John not that long ago, and Mike patted his back. He knew just how bad Terry always felt after having an argument, especially when he felt dampness of Terry’s tears soaking through his jumper.

“And I’m sorry for breaking your vase.” He said into Mike’s chest, his voice muffled.

“Nah, don’t worry about it,” Mike said. “I don’t like it anyway. Just don’t tell mother.”

He chuckled, and so did Terry, who pulled away from him so he could talk easier.

“Trust me,” Terry said. “I think your mother would be more concerned about you living with another man than that ugly vase getting broken.”

Mike smiled sadly, knowing that Terry was absolutely right. He knew he was going to have to tell his parents about him and Terry one day, but, right now, he had bigger things to worry about. Like stopping their group from breaking up from their constant fighting, because it wasn’t just Terry and John who argued, they all did. In fact, the only person who didn’t get into arguments was Gilliam, and that was only because he was the only one who didn’t have to fight for a sketch of his to be included. Yet they always made up and apologised, if a bit grudgingly.

But after what happened earlier, Mike wasn’t sure if Terry and John were going to make up.

Terry sniffed and wiped his nose on his sleeve, much to Mike’s disgust. “My hand hurts.”

“I bet it does,” Mike said, looking at the bloody grazes on three of his knuckles. Getting an idea, Mike went into the bathroom and ran his handkerchief under the cold tap. He wrung it out slightly and took it back into the bedroom, where he carefully placed it onto his partner’s sore hand. Terry winced, but then sighed. “Does that help?”

“A bit,” Terry mumbled. He reached up and quickly kissed Mike’s cheek. “Thanks.”

“For what?”

“For putting up with me, and trying to calm me down, and coming up here to see me, and putting that on my hand, and—”

“Terry,” Mike said firmly.

“What?”

“Shut up,” he smiled fondly, and gave Terry a kiss.

Pulling away, Terry looked down at his lap. The wet handkerchief was making his trousers damp, but he didn’t seem to care. “Well, I suppose I better go talk to John.” He sounded like that was the last thing that he wanted to do, and Mike didn’t blame him.

Mike noted the fear in his voice, and squeezed his good hand. “Yeah, I guess.”

Slightly worried himself, Mike, still holding Terry’s hand, led his partner out of the room and down the stairs. He peered into the living room, and saw that Gray had fallen asleep, his head nodding on Eric’s shoulder. When Eric saw him, he smiled, but the smile seemed to slip from his face when he saw Terry.

“What happened to your hand?” He asked.

Terry sighed. “Nothing,” he insisted, even though Mike knew he wasn’t fooling anyone.

Eric didn’t look convinced, but he didn’t press him. For that, Mike felt incredibly grateful.

“Where’s John?” Mike asked, feeling Terry’s hand get sweaty.

“In the dining room, I think.”

As Mike and Terry turned to leave, Eric seeming to realise what they were doing, added, “Good luck!”

Mike smiled at him and pulled Terry out of the room and through the house. Terry was shaking.

“I’m scared, Mike,” he whispered. “What if I’ve fucked our friendship up forever?”

Mike wanted to say something to reassure him, but he drew a blank. To be totally honest, he was worried that that might have happened himself, but he wasn’t going to tell him. Sighing, Mike squeezed Terry’s hand, and led him into the dining room.

John was sat on the table, but his legs were so long that they were touching the floor, with his arm around Terry G’s shoulders. Gilliam noticed them first, his eyes widening slightly, and gave John’s chest a tap.

“What is it, Gil?” John murmured. Mike relaxed slightly when he heard John call Gilliam ‘Gil’, because he only did that when he was in a reasonably good mood.

John looked up and saw him and Terry stood in the doorway, and Mike saw him gulp.

“Hello, Mike. Hello, Terry,” he said, and Mike relaxed again, glad that John wasn’t being immature and ignoring Terry, as he had feared.

Mike gave Terry’s arm a nudge, and he stepped forwards. “Um, John, can I have a chat with you?”

“Yeah, if you want,” John said, a bit puzzled.

“In private,” Terry added. Gilliam seemed to get the hint, because he hopped down from on the table and, giving John’s arm a comforting pat, went and stood beside Mike.

“So, I guess we’ll see you guys later?” Mike said, and they both murmured in agreement.

Mike and Terry left the room, the American following after him as they headed towards the living room.

“Do you think they’ll be all right?” Gilliam asked nervously, glancing back over his shoulder.

Mike wasn’t sure if they’d have another argument or not, but he smiled, not wanting to worry Terry further. “No, I think they’ll be fine.”

“You know, John was telling me about a whole bunch of stuff that Terry does that pisses him off, like deliberately winding him up and calling him names and making comments about his sketches and stuff like that, but he does exactly the same things to him.” Gilliam babbled, pushing his hair out of his face.

“I know,” Mike said. As much as he often wanted to side with his partner during these arguments, he had to admit that Terry was right. “They’re just as bad as each other, aren’t they?”

Terry sighed sadly. “Yeah, I guess they kind of are.”

When they reached the living room, Terry flopped down on the armchair, and Mike sat down next to Gray, who was still asleep. Eric smiled at him, and then at Terry. They both smiled back, and Mike was certain that Terry’s grin looked even more forced than his felt.

“So what’s happening now?” Eric asked.

“They’re going to have ‘a talk’,” Mike said, using air quotes with his slightly shaking fingers.

“You know, this might be just what they need to stop getting on each other’s tits,” Eric said, giving Graham a gentle shove so he slumped against Mike instead. Gray’s head was bloody heavy against his shoulder, but Mike couldn’t be bothered to complain.

“I hope it is. I mean, imagine a script read through with everyone being nice to each other.” Mike said, as though the thought of a calm meeting was something exotic and exciting.

“That would be nice,” Gilliam nodded in agreement. He got up and went to switch on the television, but it didn’t respond, no matter how violently he twisted the knob on the side of the set. “Hey, Mike, you’re TV’s broken.”

“I know, it broke this morning. Just leave it, Terry.” Mike said wearily. “We’re getting a man ‘round to fix it tomorrow.”

“I see,” Terry mumbled, sinking back into the armchair.

Graham stirred in his sleep, but he didn’t wake up, and Mike remembered David telling him once that Gray was a very deep sleeper. Mike was fine to keep it that way; with Graham asleep, he knew the drinks cabinet was safe.

As the others slept and talked about crap and were generally annoying, Mike strained to hear what was going on in the dining room, listening out for raised voices or more flying chairs. But he didn’t hear anything like that, and smiled, realising that they were finally having a civilised conversation. About bloody time.

\----------

After about forty minutes, just when Graham was beginning to wake up, John and Jonesy came into the room. They both looked calm and non-injured, and Mike breathed a sigh of relief.

“Before any of you say anything,” Terry said. “We’ve agreed not to deliberately irritate each other, and that throwing chairs is unacceptable behaviour that will land you ten minutes on the naughty step.”

Gilliam started giggling in his oddly hysterical way, and Mike chuckled at the mental image of John or Terry sat on the naughty step. John went over to him and sat down on the arm of the chair, beginning to casually ruffle Terry’s long hair.

“And Graham,” Jonesy added over the laughter.

The older man looked over at him, still looking half asleep. “Yes?”

“Get off of my partner.”

Graham sat up straight, and Mike rubbed his slightly numb shoulder. “I had no idea I was leaning against him,” he said indignantly, but they all knew he wasn’t serious.

“So no more arguments, then?” Gilliam asked as Graham picked up his gin from where he’d left it on the coffee table and took a sip.

“And no more flying chairs?” Eric added.

Terry and John both looked at each other and, in unison, said, “No.”

“Now let’s stop talking about this and do something fun,” Graham said, getting unsteadily to his feet with a surprising amount of enthusiasm.

“Telly’s busted,” Jonesy said, taking Gray’s empty seat and leaning against Mike.

“No, I meant something _fun_ ,” Gray said.

“Like what?” John asked, looking at his writing partner oddly.

As the rest of the Pythons began one of their usual, pointless discussions that usually ended with everyone laughing hysterically, Mike took Terry’s hand in his and squeezed it, glad that he’d been able to resolve such a shitty situation. And from the looks the others gave him over the course of the afternoon, he guessed that he wasn’t the only one.

 


End file.
